The battles of their gods are unending themes of adventure among the Sioux. Conversing upon them, the hours are whiled away from evening until midnight, and often from midnight to morn. The intellect must have occupation. How many a noble mind has thus gone to waste! We may judge, from the importance attached to these fanciful stories, how hard must be the work of the Indian missionary. What a system of error to uproot! We may also look into our own hearts:--which is the greater absurdity, the worship of Chat-o-tee-dah or mammon?--the bowing down to the glorious works of the hand of God, or devotions paid to the gilded idol of this world? Fiery Man no more boasted of his intercourse with the gods; they seemed to have forgotten they were his friends. He had sought far and near for his wife. At times his heart was full of revenge: that she should have destroyed his son was the bitterest reflection of all. His sister's blood seemed still to be flowing before him; vengeance was called for on her who had made his lodge dark for ever. Then a different mood would affect him. She would stand before him, obedient, docile, and timid, with her soft, fearful voice, so different from the loud tones of his sister's. He could remember her so distinctly, as she held up her child for him to see, as he left the lodge to go with the hunting party. Her long, braided hair, falling about her shoulders, as her infant's cheek lay pressed against hers. For the first time he thought she looked sad at parting with him, and he had treasured the thought. He knew _then_ she never raised her hand against her child. He would have crushed his evil-minded sister for the suggestion, had she stood before him in life. He would sit buried in thought, the storms of passion breaking away from his heart; but this did not last, and woe to the man who came before him in his fierce mood. He died in battle; but the Indians said he gave his life away, for he met his enemy as if he were in a dream, and shouted no cry as he was wont. They brought his body back and buried it by the side of his son: and even death did not break the spell of awe connected with him, for the women were afraid to sit and plait grass near his grave. Harpstinah moved her lodge from where it stood, saying, she must live farther off from the graves, that she might not hear Fiery Man in the night calling for vengeance on his wife, who had deserted him, and murdered his child. No one could tell the fate of White Moon. Her parents died soon after her disappearance. But the Black Eagle, who some years after visited the Sioux who live among the thousand isles at the head of Rum River, said, that when he arrived there, White Moon's old lover took him to his lodge, and that his wife helped him off with his snow-shoes, and made him broth, for he was nearly perished with cold and hunger, having been at one time covered with snow for several days and nights, as his only chance of life.